Fealty
by Calico Kat
Summary: Presenting one concept of an alternate universe where Boromir does not die, this piece explores how the bond between Aragorn and Boromir might have further evolved once trust was established between them.


This piece is a pilot, so to speak, for an AU RP my friend and I might or might not choose to play in the future. However, I feel it can stand as a stand alone piece, and if anyone wishes to base an AU story off this beginning, they may feel free, provided that they drop me a note in e-mail. As for why Boromir's wounds were less severe, men in Tolkien's universe are the only ones who can change fate. Saying that means that they can change the course of events with some ease, and the idea is simply that Aragorn did things differently, and got to him more quickly.

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**Fealty**

It had been a long and harried run though deep forest before the Uruk-hai's pursuit was lost, and Aragorn was wary yet as he slunk through the forest in search of game and of herbs that might staunch Boromir's bleeding and keep his wounds from infection. The half-breed orcs had frightened rabbits to their burrows and deer into flight, and Aragorn was beginning to despair for dinner. When he had found herbs such that he had been seeking, he finally, carefully, retraced his steps until he came to the abandoned campsite of the day before. Its fires were cold, and their supplies, as he had feared, were torn apart and scattered, by the enraged Uruk-hai the remaining boats sunk at his own hands that none might follow Frodo's flight. He scavenged lembas and crumbs of lembas, for even a little would fill their stomachs for the night, and he reasoned that tomorrow there could be real hunting. It seemed the Uruk-hai had thrown much of the elven bread into the river, and it was lost to them; Aragorn imagined that, having tried to eat it, they had found it distasteful.

He returned to where the four of the remaining companions hid in thicket, with Legolas crouched above in the branches of a great, old tree, the lot well hidden by elven cloaks and evening shadows. Merry and Pippin sat together, Pippin's knees drawn to his chest and his head on Merry's shoulder, though they were both putting on brave faces which Aragorn saw to be admirable. There was little time to comfort them, and that they understood. Gimli was watching over Boromir, who had fallen asleep, and looked near dead, as pale as he was. Though there was forewarning in Aragorn's heart that the captain might not last the night, he offered Gimli a smile and crouched beside him, handing him the lembas bread to ration out while he tended Boromir's wounds as best he was able. Legolas must have spied the food, but did not move from his perch. Aragorn was thankful to have him there as watchman, for he was tired, himself, and Legolas could walk in waking sleep as they traveled towards what safety they might decide upon.

When he could do no more for Boromir he slept, with Merry at his back and Pippin curled against his cousin, sleeping beneath Merry's arm. It was a heavy blow to them, he knew, for Boromir had been their close and constant companion. To see him fall before them shook all notions in them of the strength of men. He knew he himself and Boromir both seemed great to them. It was for the worse that Boromir had grown delirious enough to speak of betraying Frodo before the young hobbits as the six of them fled. Aragorn had quickly hushed him, and hoped to speak to him later of it, in private, and beyond the ears of the young ones, who though they were coming to the end of their tweenage years still held a childish faith in them that had been shaken, but not broken, with Gandalf's fall.

It was more battered now.

Morning found Boromir yet breathing, though his skin was sallow. Legolas came to Aragorn's side as he redressed Boromir's wounds and spoke quietly of his fear, that there might be some poison spreading in the son of Gondor's veins, as well as they had tried to stop infections. There was nothing to be done, however, but press the herbs more tightly to his skin and hope what healing power there was in them might save him. They could not risk a fire to boil water and clean the wounds better.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had counsel away from Pippin and Merry, and decided to set their course towards Rohan. The Uruk-hai would expect the ring to go to Gondor, and search thereabout those paths, as they had all but passed Rohan's land and Minas Tirith would be the shorter goal if not for the danger it was fraught with. The Uruk-hai would doubtless not expect Frodo and Sam to be headed east towards Mordor, and so, it came to seem they could be no more help to them.

They stripped Boromir of his heavy coat, of his chain mail, and gauntlets, and wrapped him tightly in his cloak, for it was made to resist all weather, and though thin, and light, would keep him warm. Aragorn took off his own cloak and lashed it to some tree limbs, and so it was that between himself and Gimli they carried their half-conscious companion while Merry and Pippin picked out the path ahead and Legolas walked sleeping.

When they had walked a long ways West, at a hard pace that seemed unfair to their feet for all they had been walking the month and a half past, at last they made camp again. Aragorn and Legolas caught a brace of hares and a fawn that was barely of age enough to eat. They risked a small fire to cook them, and put it out quickly. Merry and Pippin seemed more animated, though they and Gimli were quite fatigued. Legolas again took watch. Aragorn found such herbs as would ease the now fevered Boromir into a deeper sleep, and there they camped that night.

They traveled at a similar pace for two days more. On the evening of the second day came at last upon a sheltering of rocks near enough to water to be convenient. The young hobbits were comforted to have good ground overhead, and Boromir none the better for the journey, so it was decided among them that they stay there for a time. Days passed. Legolas whittled more arrows, most of which were sharpened sticks without heads. He and Aragorn hunted with these, and saved what good arrows they had left for any battle that might come. The five of them sharpened their weapons against a stone Aragorn found at the river and sharpened Boromir's sword, also, for it had also seen much use in the battle days before. After three days at this camp, Boromir's fever broke. He again became sensible, although Aragorn urged him not to speak of dark things till he was better rested.

They waited another two days, till Boromir could find his own feet, and then began a slower march towards Edoras.

"We will cross the river Entwash at the place called Entwade," Aragorn told them. "And West and a little South we will come to the city of Edoras, whose cohort I rode among in days past when I was called another name. Few among them will recognize me. With luck, we will be met by the Riders of the Mark long before we come to those city walls."

"And yet we do not ride to Gondor," Boromir observed, although his words were quiet and did not carry the insult of a week before. Aragorn heard them to be a little sad, and turned to place a hand on the shoulder of his companion, looking to him with encouragement.

"We have spoken of Gondor, Boromir, but by our path they will have expected us to have headed for some refuge on the outskirts of those lands. It is all we can do to backtrack this far and look to the Rohirrim for news of Saruman's movements. When we have made it to safety, and you are better healed, we will speak of Gondor again."

Boromir seemed better heartened for the words, and nodded his acquiescence. He very much wished to speak to Aragorn of many things, and knew that it could not be until Merry and Pippin could be let out of their sight. He feared that the thoughts he harbored now would be very upsetting for them. Already, things between them seemed strained, though they were quick to look after him when it came time to set up camp. He did not blame them, and felt himself that he did not deserve their trust.

"You said that those riders you spoke of won't remember you now, Strider, but how should they forget you?" Pippin asked inquisitively as they lay out under the stars with no campfire to warm them or bedrolls on which to lay their heads.

"It was very long ago, in the time that their fathers rode these hills, when I last served Rohan," Aragorn replied, thinking now that he had been, perhaps, too free with revelation, though it was no past he was ashamed of. He had no choice but to explain himself, lest Pippin's questioning become relentless and aggravating.

"How long has it been that you've lived, then?" Merry piped in, for his own curiosity's sake and the sake of not letting Pippin get a foot in the door.

"I am eighty-seven this year," Aragorn said truthfully.

"That's old even for a hobbit, and yet you don't look it," Pippin said, as Merry dwelled on the words without comment.

"He is a descendent of the Númenóreans, a long lived race of men," Legolas explained, looking to the young hobbits in the darkness. His skin glowed faint as distant starlight, and his features alone could be made out in the night. He was, in Pippin's opinion, a very poor excuse for a campfire. He had told Merry so already.

"Perhaps you carry more hope for men than it seems, if you would ride to battle among them," Boromir observed. "You told me before that you have traveled to the White City and seen its banners flown high…"

"And there I served your grandfather, Ecthelion. I was a captain of Gondor for a time, and saw it in the best of hands. I was called Thorongil, by him, and when we fought together he gave me great hope for the strength of men," Aragorn told him, then, for he saw that the time was right to speak of these things between them. Boromir's spirit waned day by day, and he could not but offer compassion.

"You did not tell me," Boromir said, a thickness in his voice as if the words threatened to stick in his throat.

"Would it have been better that I did?" Aragorn wondered with no challenge in his words, and Boromir fell silent and spoke no more that night.

Pippin, however, became quite insistent to hear how far and wide Aragorn had ranged in his long life, and pestered on for the better part of an hour. Aragorn saw that Merry, despite all pretenses of being the more mature one, was quite caught up in the account as well, and told them that which was fit for speaking, promising them that when they'd a roof over their heads and he needed not beg off for sake of sleep they might ask him what details they wished. He could not help but smile in the dark, for though he was a private man, their pure and naïve enthusiasm was not a chore to speak to. He had told them several stories of his journeys as a ranger before, when Pippin had gotten him in private and been eager to know 'Exactly what does a ranger do?', and now that they knew his age, he feared there would be no end to these inquiries. Still, there were several accounts that came readily to mind as would make good tales that tweenage hobbits might fancy. He marked them in his mind and he went to sleep.

It was a day later that they met Éomer, nephew of king Theoden. The meeting came with ill tidings, for the group found that Aragorn's friend of old had fallen under the thrall of Saruman, and Éomer himself had been banished. Even Boromir saw the wisdom of pressing on to Edoras, then, for the forces of the Riddermark would be a threat to Gondor, should Saruman see it fit to coax the two kingdoms into war, and spare himself and Sauron the trouble of weakening the both. Éomer saw their intentions were noble, and shared his rations among them, and they camped with him for a night.

They moved on westward, keeping what pace the healing Boromir would not be exhausted by. He did not complain of his injuries, nor ever ask their pace to be slowed. Finally when they made camp near an outcropping of rock, and Merry and Pippin were sleeping soundly, Aragorn nodded towards the windward side of the rock and Boromir rose to follow him there where they might hold counsel in private.

Boromir was silent, his head bowed, by the time they had come to the opposite side of the rock, and Aragorn turned to face him. The moonlight was on his dark hair, but his face was in shadow, and his eyes turned away from the light and from Aragorn and were downcast towards the stone.

"You would speak of what passed between myself and Frodo," he said, as Aragorn gathered himself to speak. "And it seems I must first admit that you were right. There would have been disaster, had the Ring come to Gondor… I would not hear the truth, even to the doom of us all."

"The dark power of Mordor is strong, and growing stronger by the day. My own ancestor, Isildur, fell to its thrall, and it is for his failing that we yet fight now," Aragorn consoled, shaking his head slowly to all with which Boromir accused himself. "You wished for hope for Gondor, and of all things, it picked that hope to prey upon, and encouraged thoughts you wished to hear."

"And I was weak," Boromir replied. "And I listened. And Frodo suffered for it. I might have harmed him, Aragorn. I might have taken it by force, had he not disappeared and fled!" His eyes remained downcast, his voice tremorous beneath the weight of his emotions, and he felt the bitterness of his failure poignantly.

"Look at me," Aragorn commanded. His voice was steady and his gaze cool despite the sadness in it. Boromir's breath seemed unsteady, and Aragorn could see the wince of his brow. "Look at me, brother," Aragorn said, and waited as the tension in Boromir passed, and he raised his eyes to Aragorn. Aragorn saw that he felt lost.

"That is why nine set out from Rivendell," he went on, as he held Boromir's grey eyes in his gaze. "Because if one, or two, should fall, there would yet be more to bear the burden. There was no telling which of us might have turned upon the other at our charge's behest. I feared myself that I might turn, and other times feared I might have to kill any one of us."

"And did you ever think to take it for yourself?" Boromir asked, searching Aragorn's gaze for some sign of reassurance.

"Frodo offered it to me, before he left. And a part of me would have taken it… but I closed his hand around it, and I sent him on his way," Aragorn admitted truthfully, his gaze compassionate. There was no gloating in him for what could have been seen a moral victory.

"You are a stronger man than I," Boromir said, all about him wilting with the influx of fresh pain. He was humbled, and wondered that he did not avert his gaze, but Aragorn looked upon him steadily, and with no disgust, and he felt as if he was held bodily by the strength of those blue eyes--as though otherwise he might have collapsed.

"I have never seen myself as either strong or noble," Aragorn said, turning his own gaze towards the horizon and releasing Boromir from his attention. The captain of Gondor bowed his head and drew breath as if he'd come up from deep water. The moon was barely more than a quarter full, and glimmered a sliver of silver above the plains. "I was raised among the elves, and always I was the youngest and least wise. You speak to me of hope for Gondor, and of the strength of men, and I would give you the first and exemplify the second, though I know not where lies this strength in me."

"Should you but have promised me to try, I would have followed you. That night in Lothlorien, beneath the trees… I would have followed you. And again beside the river, should you have told me but this much. And I would follow you now, but I have dishonored myself by my actions. Though I see you have at last accepted what strength I've envied in you, I am not one that should be seen among your company," Boromir said sadly, knowing he could not return to Gondor and face his father and his brother in face of such shame.

"Say it not so, kinsman!" Aragorn chastised, turning to him again, his gaze demanding of him that Boromir could not but meet his eyes against his own will. "For should I come to rule I would have you yet as my captain. You are one who has seen the enemy, and knows what it is to fear him. It has brought you to dishonor, but I would say you pardoned and all honor restored, but to have you swear your service, and serve your country dutifully once again."

"It is too much for me, my friend… my king, but greater dishonor yet to refuse in the face of such generosity." Boromir felt tears rise to his eyes at the thought of the white towers of his home, and the trumpets that might yet welcome him home, and smiled, then, the sadness and desperation within him matched, for once, by gratitude, and slow-kindling hope. For the first time since he had gone off to gather wood for a night's cook fire and found Frodo, instead, he matched gazes with Aragorn without the burden of his guilt tugging his ever down. "That you would let me be first sworn to your service is a greater honor yet, and one I can only accept your judgment in, though I see myself undeserving."

And so Boromir drew his sword, and lay it in the hands of the Isildur's heir, and swore his fealty, there, beneath the waxing moon. Aragorn doubted there would ever be one whose oath was so ferverent, though he might rule long years to come, should he ever ascend the throne at all. Boromir spoke with the passion of a man damned but for this grace bestowed upon him. They returned to the leeward shelter of the great stone, Isildur's heir and the first housecarl of the House of Telcontar, and there took their rest.

There is more to tell of how this splinter of the Fellowship of the Ring made their way to Edoras and found a cold welcome there, and how the vile Wormtongue had the hobbits Merry and Pippin kidnapped, and how they came to Fanghorn forest, and were saved by the white wizard, who did not remember their faces, and trusted them to the care of the ancient Ent, Treebeard. And in this tale, Rohan was saved from the grasp of Saruman, and Isenguard humbled by the forest's fury. But that tale is not to be told here, and today, though those events and later may be recounted at some later time.


End file.
